


Bring the Lions Out

by Mini_Marauder



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Dark, Drama, F/M, First War with Voldemort, Humor, M/M, Marauders, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Marauders Friendship (Harry Potter), Romance, The Marauder's Map, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-19 09:28:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29997312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mini_Marauder/pseuds/Mini_Marauder
Summary: I haven’t felt brave in many years, not with the world breathing down my neck. With the glares and sneers my parents receive. Because of me. Because of what I am, not who I am. I am too young to be so tired. •My life is small. It comes in bits and pieces, and tastes plain as a table cracker. Little salt for bravery, that’s it. I’m fine most of the time. I have my friends.•The last name of Black carries a lot of weight. It equates to power in this world—a power I’m not interested in. I have no interest in cruelty and punishment. I’m punished enough.•My problems aren’t anything other than what I bring on myself. My parents? They’re lovely. My grades? I’m a genius. But I suppose it’s my fault I befriended these buggers in the first place. So their problems are my problems.~~~Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers, are proud to present: THE MARAUDER’S MAP.Adventure if you dare.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin & Peter Pettigrew & James Potter, Sirius Black/Marlene McKinnon, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. I: Prologue

**I: Vignettes**

_“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”_

—

When I was young, I wanted adventure. We don’t need to talk about what I want now. It doesn’t matter.

But I imagine that spark is what made the Sorting Hat place me in Gryffindor. I haven’t felt brave in many years, not with the world breathing down my neck. With the glares and sneers my parents receive. Because of me. Because of _what_ I am, not _who_ I am.

I am too young to be so tired.

It happened in 1964. It happened while I was dreaming. Dreams are not a luxury I can afford now; nightmares are all that I am spared. But that night, bathed in the grey blue glow of the full moon, I was dreaming.

I was on one of my regular adventures. Waving a stick as a wand in the woods behind my house, taking down boggarts who thought they were being sneaky, dancing in the trees. I knew better.

“Ridik-CUE-lus! Ridik-CUE-lus!” I was screaming. Triumphant, triumphant.

Until the screams coming from my mouth were not punctuated by tiny giggles. Until my throat started feeling strained and scratchy. And suddenly, the light of the full moon was real, the screams were real. The blood running down my arms was real.

There are scars draped over my body that I wish could be unseen.

Don’t look?

—

My life is small. It comes in bits and pieces, and tastes plain as a table cracker. Little salt for bravery, that’s it. Had not much growing up, just Mum. Mum and me, and our small cottage by the sea. ’S all right, though. We’re comfortable. Happy.

Lonely, maybe.

Till I got to Hogwarts. Sat by this boy on the carriage, who looked as empty as my insides sometimes felt. The Grayness, I call it. Seeps in when I’m not looking. Have to be careful. It riles emotions I’m not looking to capitalize on. Negative things. Like silent anger and sweeping envy. 

I’m fine most of the time. I have my friends. The quiet one, especially. Finding me like that on the train. Introducing me to the others. I’m sure he’s the reason I made it into Gryffindor. Though, I suppose the Hat can’t lie.

Can’t it?

—

Being born into the wrong family doesn’t give you the right to be an arsehole. It’s a job, you see, working against your own genetics. I was born to do one thing. Meant to do it.

Join that Dark Lord and all his lot.

The last name of Black carries a lot of weight. Some think because it equates to darkness, but I know better. It equates to power in this world—a power I’m not interested in. Dark or light or bloody pink for all I care, I want nothing to do with it. I have no interest in cruelty and punishment.

I’m punished enough.

For being born wrong. For being sorted wrong. For my backwards attitude and my angry heart and my proclivity to impulsivity and big-mouthed-ness.

Yeah, I’ve got problems. Problems that are none of your fucking business problems.

Wanna bite?

—

People like to think rich boys don’t have problems. Well, of course we bloody do. The problem is, most of us rich boys don’t like to acknowledge our privilege in being problematic, that we’ve got all these legs up and no room to complain.

So I don’t complain. I mean, yeah, to my friends I do. But to the rest of the school, I’m the big-headed Head Boy with a bullying problem and a weakness for redheads.

Besides, my problems aren’t anything other than what I bring on myself. My parents? They’re lovely. My grades? I’m a genius. But I suppose it’s my fault I befriended these buggers in the first place. So their problems are my problems.

Come at me, yeah?

—

_Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers, are proud to present: THE MARAUDER’S MAP._

Adventure if you dare…


	2. II: Summer 1977, Before 7th Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am a Gryffindor, he’d remind himself. I am the lion. Usually, he could shake out his shoulders and inhale and fortify.
> 
> Today, he couldn’t.

**II: Summer 1977, Before 7th Year**

Sirius used a permanent sticking charm to hang the poster on the wall. This one took the cake: a bombshell blonde wearing a cherry red bikini on a chopper. It was gorgeous. The bike, not the woman. The woman was a she not an it. Not that she wasn’t also gorgeous. But his collection of bombshell ladies was more of a reaction to his environment rather than a preoccupation with breasts.

Not that those weren’t an enjoyable preoccupation either.

The stomping footsteps on the stairs echoed through Number 12 Grimmauld Place, inciting both delight and trepidation inside Sirius. Delight because, once again, he’d infuriated his parents.

Trepidation because, once again, he had infuriated his parents.

Every summer break was worse than the one before. Sirius didn’t bother to travel home for Christmas or Easter, but during the summers he was stuck. Sure, he got to pop over to James’s for a few weeks before the start of term. But that was really it, and he wasn’t about to impose on the Potters more than they could already bear him. He’d been told by enough professors and women he was relatively unbearable. Ninety percent of the time, he took that as a compliment.

The stomping grew louder, closer.

Today, he was leaning into the ten percent.

Not that it mattered what his parents thought. Or what his brother thought. Or, shit, what anyone thought, really. The only opinions he cared for were the Marauders’. Everyone else was just cannon fodder.

The door slammed open.

“YOU!” Walburga Black burst into the room, waving several sheets of parchment. Her massive curls bobbed crazily on top of her head, the black streaked with thick strands of white. Her eyes were wide, mouth gaping in rage. She looked like a mad woman.

“You,” Sirius said dryly, crossing his arms and staring at her. He could only imagine what she was raving about now.

She shoved the letters in his face, wailing incoherently at the top of her lungs.

Sirius scrabbled with them, catching the curving handwriting of Narcissa’s mother, the block letters of Goyle’s father, others he didn’t recognize.

_...first, with that nasty prank at the Whomping Willow—the Snape boy could have been killed! And he’s slowly rising. Think of the reverberations this could cause in our circle..._

**...strutting around Hogwarts with that blood traitor Potter, and that impoverished half-blood son of a Ministry embarrassment. Hexing our children, starting fights, getting off with hardly a slap on the wrist because of that bloody Mudblood-loving headmaster...**

...TALK TO YOUR SON, ORION. HE’S MAKING A FOOL OF HIMSELF IN FRONT OF OUR PEERS. YOU AND I BOTH KNOW: HIS TIME IS COMING...

Sirius frowned, feeling his eyebrows press together. His time was coming? What in Merlin did that mean? 

A cold chill of realization washed over him and he stiffened.

“My _time_ is _coming_?” he repeated furiously to his lunatic mother.

“You’re seventeen now, Sirius!” she screeched. She started pulling on his scarlet canopy hangings. “You have obligations to this family—to our people.”

Sirius barked out a laugh. “Obligations? And when have I ever stooped so low as to be obligatory to your wishes?”

Her head shook wildly. “It’s time to stop fooling around with this ruddy”—she pulled on the hangings—“Gryffindor”—pull—“ _mess_.”

The sound of tearing cloth filled the room.

“Hey!” Sirius pushed her out of the way, running his long fingers over the torn cloth. “I like these hangings.” 

It wasn’t so much that the cloth itself was special to him—it’s what it stood for. And he couldn’t help but feel metaphors building up inside him. Broken blood. Ruptured family. 

Things he had been staring in the face since he had been sorted into the wrong house. 

“You’ve gone too far this time, Sirius.” Walburga snapped. “You almost killed that Snape boy!”

Sirius scoffed.

“And I’m not just hearing it from our family—I received a letter from the headmaster as well.”

“What...what’d it say?” Sirius asked quietly, thumb still rubbing the scarlet fabric. Waves of guilt washed over him. He winced at James’s anger, at Peter’s embarrassment…at Remus’s hurt. He hadn’t spoken to any of them since it happened two weeks ago. He’d ridden in Evans’s compartment on the train home, much to her annoyance, claiming he wanted to chat up Marlene. 

He’d ended up in the loo with his hand up her shirt and her tongue in his mouth. Neither of them had complained. 

“You know Snape is rising in the ranks!” Walburge continued. “You know that you can’t simply go around, hexing all of our people.”

“ _Our_ people?” Sirius thundered. “No, Mother dear, _your_ people.”

The footsteps on the stairs were quiet, but Sirius did not miss them. In all his years under this roof, he had _never_ missed them. They haunted his dreams, making him toss and turn in middle of the night in his dormitory, and have to explain his nightmares away to the other boys. When he was home, he swore he could even hear them when he was locked away in his attic room. Always convinced the door would creak open and catch him unawares. That he’d hear the familiar slide of leather slipping against fabric as it slithered out of belt loops. That in moments his back would catch the sting of the well-worn leather. 

Because he’d always done something wrong. He was wrong, wrong, _wrong_.

He’d heard the _snick_ of the belt and felt its punch for the first time when he was three. He had committed the sound to memory. And every time those steps resounded in the house, cool sweat pricked the back of his neck, and he fought into the depths of his mind for resolve. 

_I am a Gryffindor_ , he’d remind himself. _I am the lion_. Usually, he could shake out his shoulders and inhale and fortify.

Today, he couldn’t. Not with his friends out of his life. Not with Marlene’s perfume staining the last robes he wore. Not with his brother, sitting in his room two floors below, listening to the horror about to unfold. And doing nothing to stop it.

Older siblings needed help sometimes too. But Sirius and Regulus both knew he was too prideful to even hint at the need.

_Step, step, step._

“Quit fooling around, Sirius Black!” Walburge howled. “This is your _family_. You have responsibilities to us—to the Dark Lord—when you graduate.”

“Responsibilities to end the Dark Lord, is more like it.”

"What?!" she shrieked.

"Oh, come off it, woman," Sirius barked back. "We both know that you and father saw this coming years ago—before I set off to Hogwarts, even. How many times do I have to say it, before it sticks into that twisted mind of yours? I don't believe in your Pureblood nonsense. I will not be joining your 'Dark Lord.' And I want—nothing—to do— _with this family_!"

_Step, step. Creak._

The door eased open.

Sirius gulped. He stumbled, his back smacking into the spindle of the four poster bed. The torn Gryffindor cloth was still in his hands. 

Orion Black moved across the floor as though he were walking down the aisle in a funeral parlor. Slowly, somberly. His thick fingers were already fiddling with the silver buckle of his belt.

_Snick._

It slid easily through the belt loops, around his waist, and back out the other side.

Walburga stared at the ceiling. 

Other than Sirius's panting, the house was silent.

Orion's face was calm, black bangs dragging across blacker eyes. When he opened his mouth, yellow teeth peeked out. 

"Consider your wish—granted," he said.

The belt descended.

—

It was storming and James was bored. His parents were out at yet another Ministry function, and he'd had enough of playing himself in Wizard's Chess. And Exploding Snap. And Gobstones. Quidditch was obviously out of the question, with this thunderstorm raging overhead. What was he supposed to do now—read a bloody book? 

Merlin, he would never.

He'd mirror chat Sirius, but that was no use. Because he was mad at Sirius. Because Padfoot had done a very unforgivable thing and all the other Marauders were mad at him and James was a loyal son of a bitch, if ever there was one.

But not speaking to his best mate was starting to take a toll on him. Mainly right now, because he was bored.

He wondered what Moony was up to, maybe he could Apparate over there. But, eh, Remus hated company at his place. And Peter was out of the question, off on holiday with his Mum. He could owl Evans...

...except he would likely receive an envelope full of Boil Powder in return.

James collapsed on the living room couch, catching and releasing the snitch, ruffling his hair, thinking about Evans. He'd never really gotten to say goodbye to her, at the end of term. And he’d boiled with anger when he’d learned that Sirius had sat in her compartment. He and his mates had been too distracted by the Snape incident. Remus went home early. Peter was avoiding Sirius. Sirius was avoiding all of them. And James...

He'd punched Sirius, and Sirius hadn't hit him back. James wasn't sure if he'd wanted Padfoot to fight him or not. But the whole school knew. 

Evans, specifically, was aware of Moony's furry little problem. She wasn't stupid, she'd figured out there had been some falling out between the four of them around the full moon. And when Snape showed up to their last Potions class, a little more scarred up than usual...Well, she'd blamed James. 

Why was she even still friends with Snape in the first place?

But James almost couldn't fault her for blaming him. Except that she'd known they weren't speaking to Sirius, that Sirius was the likely culprit in whatever had occurred on the night of the full moon. But obviously, James was the one meeting judgement. For not being better, for not keeping Sirius in line. Like he was a bloody zoo keeper.

James snorted. Sirius was his own person. He was fucking seventeen years old, for crying out loud. James just had a loyalty problem that made him come off as the mummy of the Marauders.

It was funny. When James punched Sirius, he'd still been loyal. He'd done it to reinforce the hurt done to Moony. He'd done it to demonstrate the rift that had now formed between his friends. And he'd done it for Sirius's own good.

Because if Padfoot saw that even James was furious with him, maybe it would break through that arrogant facade and actually touch a nerve.

James wasn't sure it had. They hadn't spoken since.

Overhead, thunder cracked, making the house shake. James roared angrily back at it.

Rude of the storm, to not even respect a lion such as himself.

The wreath on the front door banged wildly in the wind. James rolled his eyes. They lived in a bloody manor, and had a quaint little wreath on their door. Mum loved flowers and trinkety shit. There were woven baskets and porcelain figurines _everywhere_.

The wreath banged again. 

"SHUT UP!" James yelled back.

It wasn't listening. And it was also starting to sound less like a wreath and more like a knock.

Who in Merlin's name would be knocking on their door during this storm?

James groaned and toppled off the sofa. His bare feet slapped the marble of the foyer as he crossed to the door.

"Bloody mental," he muttered, and yanked it open.

A sopping wet Sirius Black collapsed into his arms.

"Pa—Padfoot?" 

They both crashed to the floor.

James scurried up, kicking the door shut. Then, he yanked his best mate back into his arms. He slicked strings of black hair out of Sirius's bruised face.

"Padfoot?" he whispered.

"'ello, Prongsie," Sirius croaked. Blood dribbled from his split lip down his chin.

"Wha—what happened?"

"Could you—" Sirius stuttered, his good eye squeezing shut. "Do you mind—?"

"Do I mind what, Sirius?" James said, voice harder. Harder because he was pissed—at whoever did this. Heads would roll. Sirius just needed to tell him how many and who.

"I know you hate me," Sirius continued, mistaking James's tone, "but I have nowhere else to go."

James cradled Sirius to his chest, rocking back and forth on his knees. Sirius's arms slipped around James's waist, and he clung on as though he was scared he'd fall. His shoulders shook.

"Don't worry, mate," James said into his sopping hair, ignoring the water pooling around them, the tears soaking his shirt. "You're home."

—

Remus awoke to a rather annoying _tap tap tap_ on his bedroom window. He rolled over onto his stomach, pressing his pillow over his head.

"Go away, Charming," he groaned.

He would know that bird anywhere. Especially since James had taken to sending letters at all hours of the day. But he couldn't help it if his mate was bored as bollocks—Remus had his own life to attend to. 

Which, for the past two weeks, had primarily meant working in a Muggle bookshop and not thinking about Black. He had a deep dedication to it, truly. And he was performing quite well. Anytime Black's name crossed his mind, he started recalling ancient runes instead. When Peter brought him up in letters—and when James purposefully didn't—Remus skipped over those sentences. If a dog walked past, Remus turned away. 

Course, seeing a dog also reminded him of himself. Turning away made things much easier all around.

Lily had already been by to visit him once. They weren't too far from one another, what with their mothers both being Muggles and all, and they'd always had a decent relationship. Very book-oriented. But she was all worried about him now, after The Incident. Worried about Snape too, he was sure, though she wouldn't say it. And she definitely didn't bring the other boy by. 

It wouldn't end well for any of them. Too much wretched guilt on Remus's end, too much bitterness on Snape's, and too much pain for Lily.

It was better this way, her floating between them. The same way he floated between her and James.

Speaking of...

_Tap, tap, tap._

"Charming, I swear to Merlin, I will clip your wings."

She continued.

Remus peeked out from under his pillow to stare at his alarm clock. It was three bloody a.m. Of course it was. Of course James was awake and bothering him.

He sighed and sat up, rubbing his face. The dull glow of the half moon cut through the vestiges of the storm, illuminating the worn carpet. He was always aware of the phases, especially in this room.

"Get in here, you sodding thing," he said, padding over to the window. 

The bird burst in, wings spraying rain water all over him. It flopped onto the bed, shoving out its leg.

Remus rolled his eyes—ever so dramatic, like its master—and opened up the letter.

**_Sirius. Serious. My place. Now._ **

He clicked his tongue. Was he really trying to get the two of them to make up at this bloody hour? And besides, Remus had thought Black and James weren't speaking. He went to crumple up the letter, moving his thumb in the process, and froze.

There was a drop of blood in the corner.

Remus didn't think. He Apparated.

—

The front door of the manor flew open with a resounding _BANG_. He was soaked to the skin, but didn’t mind the floor as he tore inside, kicking off his shoes, dripping water everywhere, screaming, "JAMES!"

"UP HERE!" a yell bounced back.

Remus pounded up the stairs, two at a time, rounding corner after corner in this stupidly massive house. He skidded into James's room, head whipping back and forth, until he saw the light on in the bathroom. He shouldered open the door.

Black. Leaning forward on the rim of the tub. The water, pink. His face, purple. His back...fucking hell.

Remus slid down on his knees, whipping out his wand, gasping, "James—when did he—"

"Twenty minutes ago," James muttered as he ran his own wand up a nasty cut on Black's arm. It faded immediately. 

Remus grabbed Black's other arm, doing the same. "What happened?"

James shook his head. "He's been in and out—I don't know—I—"

"Peter?"

"I owled you first." James's eyes were shining. "Moony, there was so much blood—look at his back— _Moony_ —"

"I know, Prongs," Remus whispered, "I know."

Remus was practiced in injuries, after causing so many of his own scars. After staring in the mirror at the roping scar that reached down from the left side of his neck and wrapped around to the right of his waist every day of his bleeding life.

He ran a finger down a particularly ghastly wound on Black's shoulder.

Black hissed.

"Sirius!" James yelped, jumping at the chance to get him to talk. "Mate, what happened—what did this?"

"Belt," Black croaked, squinting with his unbruised eye. A grey eye that quickly pinned Remus. He breathed, "Moony?" Then, his eye rolled back into his head and he slumped, muttering, "This must be a dream. I'm still there, _oh fuck_ , I'm still there..."

"Still _where_ , Padfoot?" James asked desperately.

“You’re not at Grimmauld Place,” Remus said quietly. “You’re at James’s.”

Black's eye flew open, taking him in. He reached out a shaking hand. "Moony?"

"Yes, it's me. In the flesh. Put your hand back in the tub, you're dripping."

"Could be a little nicer to me, seeing as I'm banged up and all."

"You're pushing your luck."

Black retracted his hand and rested his head in his arms on the rim of the tub again. "I know."

"Who hurt you?" Remus said; James raised an eyebrow at him. Well, perhaps he had more demanded it—his friends weren't used to harsh tones from him.

They'd gotten their first taste, really, after The Incident.

"Da—" Black licked his lips, tried again. "Orion."

"Your _dad_?" James shouted, shooting up. The washcloth he'd been holding slapped against the tile floor. "Your bloody _dad_ beat you like this?"

"I DON'T HAVE A DAD!" Sirius thundered. When he exhaled, it was like all the life left him, like he was a ghost of a man. "Not anymore."

"Well of course you have a dad," James said huffily, pacing and ruffling his hair. "Just not one that will be alive by morning."

Remus rolled his eyes. "James. He means he was disowned."

James froze. "What?"

"He's right," Black whispered, bringing up a hand to cover his face. "Not that I ever wanted them as my family anyway. But he's right."

His shoulders quivered, like he was holding back a dam that begged to burst through.

James stared at him. "I'm—I'm going to go owl Wormtail. Charming should be back by now."

He disappeared into his bedroom.

"I've scared Prongs," Black said quietly.

Remus didn't respond. He walked behind the tub, trying to get a better look at Black's injuries. "We'll do the best we can, but I think you need Mungo's."

"No," Black bit out. "No one can know—no one can see me—" His voice broke again.

"There'll be far more scarring if we don't," Remus warned. But he was already grabbing James's abandoned washcloth and getting to work. He knew Sirius's pride as well as he knew the phases of the moon. It did not budge.

"I don't care."

"You might."

Black turned his neck slowly, wincing, but he caught Remus's eye all the same. "I'm sorry."

"For what, Black?" The other boy flinched as if he'd been smacked with the belt again. Remus didn't give a shit. "For telling Snape about the Willow and allowing him to see me transform? Or, for not apologizing back at school? Or perhaps even for the fact that my father angered a werewolf, and now I'm one of them too?"

"For the fact that we didn't manage to become Animagi sooner."

Remus paused and blinked. Then, he started his wand work back up, and Black turned away. 

"You should never have done it in the first place," he said softly, closing up a long, thin wound down Black's spine.

"If we’d managed it earlier, you wouldn't have so many scars."

The blurs of full moons past skated across Remus's mind, slowing down on the particularly painful ones where he had been alone, clawing at himself like a demented lion, raking talons down his own back, opening up both old sores and new.

"I deserve them."

Black whipped around, grabbing Remus's wrist. His eyes flew open in shock, but Black was only moving in closer.

"Don't say that shit," he growled. 

Remus recovered himself and nodded his head at Sirius's back. "Do you think you deserve your lot?"

Black's mouth went thin.

"Exactly." Remus grabbed his shoulders and forced him to turn back around. "We both have our own fucking problems. Now, do something out of character and just lay there while I fix you."

—

It's not that James was incapable of emotions. He just couldn't process them as quickly as dear ole Rem. He didn't have that introspective inner eye that allowed him to look deep inside himself and whatnot and loosen up his upper lip and be vulnerable.

And even besides all of that, there was the fact that Remus and Sirius understood each other in a way James never would. He was raised in a loving household, with no worries other than shallow ones. Remus was broken by his disease, and Sirius was broken by his pride (well, perhaps James could understand _that_ ) and his family. They shared a bond of trauma that James wasn't trying to poke at.

And Remus, like the goddamn saint he was, wasn't letting his anger at Sirius get in the way of helping him.

James tied up the letter to Wormtail, telling him to come as soon as possible, and sent Charming off. He considered what useful thing he could do now. 

Cots. They would need two cots—fuck if Sirius was sleeping alone tonight.

He conjured them—with extra blankets for Rem, that always-freezing sap—and started rifling through his drawers for clothes Sirius could wear.

"James?" Remus called.

He jumped and burst back into the bathroom. "What—is he okay—what happened—"

"Stop acting like a mother hen, Prongs, and just help me out of the tub," Sirius said, a glint of mirth in his eyes. Eyes, now—Remus had managed to bring down the swelling in the left one.

Thank Merlin for his bloody genius.

In a moment, James had slung Sirius's free arm around his own shoulders, and he and Remus dragged him to the bed. 

"Pants," James said stupidly, brandishing a pair Gryffindor sweatpants at him. "I got you pants."

"You are absolutely worthless with that fussing, James." Remus snatched them. "Go clean the bathroom."

"Fine, but don't let him get my bed too wet. Just changed those sheets and all."

“I’m _injured_ , Prongs!"

"Not after Moony's ministrations," he said lewdly, wiggling his eyebrows. 

He flew into the bathroom, narrowly missing the hex Remus shot after him.

—

Sirius laid on his stomach in the queen bed, listening to the ridiculous snores of James on the cot to his left, near the window. Remus was in the cot to his right, shrouded in the dark. His breathing was slow and steady, and Sirius wasn't sure if he was asleep or avoiding him.

He was sure, however, that Moony was beating himself up right now, about coming to his aid. Sirius knew Remus was still infuriated with him, knew how much courage it took to show up here tonight. Of course, Remus had been less than civil. But still, he was here. As soon as he'd gotten the owl, _he was here_.

Sirius did not deserve him. And Remus knew that. And that terrified Sirius to no end.

"Moony?" he whispered hesitantly.

"What?"

Something like relief uncurled in Sirius's chest.

"Are you going to be here in the morning?"

There was a pause, and Sirius tensed once more.

"No."


	3. III: Interference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> L Babes—
> 
> You know what happened. Help me fix it.
> 
> S

**III: Interference**

"So," Peter said slowly, like he was still trying to understand. But he understood perfectly, really, what Remus was going through. And also what Sirius was going through, but that didn't matter in Remus's bedroom. Because Remus's bedroom was Sirius-free zone now. Not that talking about Sirius in Remus's bedroom, here and now, didn't break the Sirius-free zone rule. Because it did. And Peter found that notable.

"So?" Remus prodded quietly, refolding his jumper into his drawer for the third time that afternoon.

"So, you're just, you know, not ever going to forgive him?" Peter sucked harder on his Sugar Quill.

"Ever seems a bit long, Wormtail." Folding folding folding.

Peter licked his lips. He shifted his legs, trying to get more comfortable on the bed, but the object in his pocket definitely made his pants tighter than usual. No, not his wand or his "wand." A mirror James had let him borrow and told him how to use quite carefully. And then Prongs had just thrown his hands in the air for some reason, like an exasperated mother, and activated the mirror himself for Peter.

"I just mean, what would it take, you know?"

"A lot more than a three a.m. owl during a thunderstorm."

Peter gasped. "Remus! His father _beat_ him. That's harsh."

The other boy's face was stone. Cold and solid and ungiving. It was very un-Remus-like. "Any harsher than what he did to me?"

"Well..." Peter knew that, had Remus posed that question to James, Prongs would have jumped immediately to Sirius's defense. Which was why James couldn't have this come-to-Merlin with Remus, why it had to be Peter instead.

Because Peter might falter and flop between sides, but he'd eventually choose the righter one. Or, at least, the stronger one. Not that James was weak. Just that Remus was...you know, a _werewolf_. He was, like, quite literally stronger.

"Well," continued Peter, "do you mean that what he went through, that that was more traumatic than what he put _you_ through?"

"I mean," Remus said, unpacking the last of his trunk, "that it's apples to apples, isn't it?" He turned his back to Peter, shoulders stiff. "His father almost killed him—and I almost killed Severus _because_ of him."

“So, you’re saying it’s karma.”

“I’m saying, I’m angry.”

"You know, it wasn't quite like all that—"

Remus whipped around, amber eyes liquid with anger. "Wasn't it?"

"Oh, I'm not saying that Sirius didn't prank Snape. Or tell him to go to the Whomping Willow. _Or_ that Snape didn't see you transform. _Orrrr_ that—"

"You're doing Black no favors here."

"What I _am_ saying is: Sirius is impulsive and doesn't think."

Remus snorted.

"And I'm also saying," said Peter, "that you didn't almost kill Snape."

"Only because James got him out of the way."

"Well, plus—and you don't remember this because you were kinda wolfing out by this point—Sirius dragged you out of the doorway."

"So?"

"He was still human when he did it."

Finally, Remus stopped folding, something like indecision flashing across his expression. A cough came from Peter's pocket.

Peter slurped very loudly on his Sugar Quill to cover it.

“Did I really insinuate that it was karma?”

“Yes, and it was quite mean. You should apologize—loudly."

"What?"

—

"How could he just _leave_?" Sirius whispered. He swished his feet back and forth in the pond.

James jumped and raked his fingers through his hair. He was lounging on the opposite side of the pond, comic book in hand which was blocking the mirror that was communicating with Wormtail's pocket and by extension Remus's bedroom. He'd been so busy stewing over Remus's little karma comment—and feeling a smidgen guilty that he agreed with about 1% of it—that Sirius's voice had startled him.

Whatever. He and Wormtail were geniuses, really, for concocting this plan. They'd be even geniuser if they could pull it off.

"It's been three days, mate," James said. "How are you still hung up on this one?"

"He hasn't even owled..." Sirius kicked petulantly at the water. A koi fish swam up and sucked on his toe.

James shrugged. "He's not going to."

Sirius glared at him.

"What did you expect? That everything would be forgiven because you got disowned?"

To Sirius's credit, he didn't so much as wince. "It worked with you, didn't it?"

"We're different, Padfoot. We're brothers. Shit happens, we get angry, we fight, we move on. The two of you are...you're just mates. I mean, you're good mates, the best of."

"But it's not the same."

"It's not. You've got to be more careful with him and Wormtail than you are with me."

A loud noise suddenly emanated from the mirror, and James quickly slapped his comic book closed. It fell to the grass.

Sirius snorted. "What happened with your little story there, mate?"

"Uh...my stomach rumbled. I wasn't prepared to be hungry."

"You're a liar, Prongs," Sirius said. He pulled his feet out of the water and crawled over. "Come on, let me see."

"Sirius—wait—um—" James wasn't entirely sure how to explain his spying. Or how to explain the words that were bursting from his comic book right now.

Sirius's fingers pinched the pages. "Have they started making _talking_ ones now? I might be persuaded to read that—"

James grabbed for the book, but Sirius was already sliding it toward him.

"Sirius—no!"

"Oh, is this a _dirty_ maggie then? Now I _must_ see it."

At a loss, James tackled him. The comic book flew into the air.

Sirius yelped, crashing into the ground. There was a _thump_ , then—

"Owwwww," James moaned, rolling onto his back. Something hard had hit him in the head. Not Sirius's fist, but—

Sirius blinked at the mirror, lying in the grass next to them. Then, he sat up, patting stupidly at his pockets. He glared at James. "Prongs. Is that my mirror?"

James jumped up, ruffling his hair. "Funny story, mate."

The other boy also stood, advancing on him. "And why did Peter have to run off so early this morning?"

"Well—we just thought—I mean—"

"What could you and Wormtail _possibly_ have to talk about that's so urgent?"

But at that exact moment, an incredibly familiar voice burst from the darkened silver of the mirror.

"YOU'VE DONE WHAT?"

Sirius jumped. He glanced back at James, then rushed for the mirror. He picked it up, cradling it in his hands like it was something precious.

"Moony?" he whispered.

James winced. With Remus's wolfy little tendencies, he definitely would have heard Sirius's voice. He walked up to peer at the mirror over Sirius's shoulder. Sure enough, there was a flashing of light, like the mirror was being fought over, and then—

—

"This was a dirty trick, Prongs," Remus said sourly. "Even coming from you."

"Rem! My love! Hello!" James said, messing with his hair.

He stood behind Black, grinning nervously. The two were outside, in the Potter manor's backyard, judging by the koi pond. An abandoned comic book lay in the grass. Was James really still reading that childish drivel?

"How odd, finding you in Wormtail's pants," James continued idiotically.

"Quite, considering you were there first," Remus snapped back. He was trying to ignore the face in the foreground. The long, harrowed expression. The straggly dark hair. The bruise, almost healed now—healed by _him_ —peeking out between the strands.

He was also trying to ignore the way Black had said his nickname. How his voice had curled around the edges of it, like it was something precious. Something missed. There was a tug in Remus's gut.

He ignored that too.

"Remus! Give the mirror back! Come on now," Peter jumped up, trying to snatch the thing.

Remus shoved him out of the way.

Prongs laughed much harder than necessary, almost toppling back on the ground. Black bit his lip, as though he was trying to keep from smiling.

"And what, exactly," Remus continued, trying to keep his temper in control, especially this close to the full moon, "were you two and Wormtail attempting to get out of this little espionage?"

"Me?" Black spluttered. "Moony—I wasn't—this was all James's—"

James nodded gravely. "It's true. Sirius wasn't in on this one."

"Uh-huh." Remus clicked his tongue.

"Honest, Moony!" Black swore. "Cross my heart and all that Muggle shit Evans rambles on about."

"You listen to Evans?" James asked, eyes wide.

"How can you not? Louder than a bloody hippogriff in heat, she is."

"Oi!"

"James," Remus said calmly, "you cannot possibly be offended by that, it's only true."

Black grinned at him.

A flash of hurt struck through Remus. Pain that he hadn't seen that smile in weeks. Pain at what that owner's smile had caused. Remus was suddenly in that hospital bed again, staring at the ceiling, tears building in his eyes, fingernails biting into his palms as he imagined what had almost occurred the night before.

The Incident.

Remus frowned back. He was sick of this conversation. Unprompted, he snapped, "I have nothing to be sorry about."

James and Peter fell silent.

Black's grin vanished. "Yeah, I know. I just wish—"

Remus scoffed.

"—that you had been here in the morning."

"I don't owe you a kindness, Sirius Black."

The mirror went dark.

—

"Well," Peter admonished, "that wasn't very nice of you, was it?"

Remus chucked the mirror at his head. He squeaked and flopped to the ground. Luckily, the mirror smacked into a pillow and fell on the bed, unbroken.

"Don't mess me around like that, Peter!" he yelled, teeth bared. "I don't appreciate being set up just so you two could try and weasel my feelings out of me."

"You're not entirely forthcoming with your feelings, Moony. You like to leave us in the dark."

Peter ducked as a bar of chocolate flew toward his face.

"Because they're my business! Not yours. Not James's. And _especially_ not Black's!"

"But you haven't talked to anyone since The Incident. We don't know where you're at or why you're there or when you'll come back or—"

"And what," Remus growled, "if I don't _want_ to come back?"

Peter blinked up at him. "That would be very sad indeed."

"Maybe you should leave."

"No, I'm quite all right here. Let's chatter."

Remus snorted. Then, he flopped back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. "It can't go back to the way it was, Wormtail."

Peter flopped down beside him. "So go forward instead."

They both turned their heads at the same time, staring at each other.

"How?"

"Yeah, I'm not the smart one. That's you."

It was silent for a few moments. Then, Remus said quietly, "The full moon is in a few days."

"Cool."

"What will that look like?"

For the past few summers, when possible, the other Marauders had snuck out of their homes at the full moon. They'd taken on their Animagus forms and sat with him, in his home's makeshift basement dungeon.

"The same," Peter said with a shrug.

Remus turned away, shaking his head. "It'll never be the same."

—

Sirius stared at the dark face of the mirror. Remembering...

_...every new moon since second year. Only two weeks to go..._

_...the color of the Animagus potion, just before the lightning struck..._

_...the devastation seared across Remus's battered face as Sirius admitted his betrayal..._

_...the belt, coming down like it always did..._

_...three nights ago, his brother in the light on his right, his best mate in the dark on his left..._

_...the empty bed two mornings ago..._

_..the empty bed one morning ago..._

The emptiness of Sirius's own heart and home. Darkness, swirling around him and through him. Unpersuadable. Deep and thick, like an ancient bog. Because he'd been made _wrong_.

Suddenly, he wanted to rip open the scars on his back. He wanted to fall to his knees and scream at the perfectly blue sky. He wanted the world to know what stalked through the corners of his mind.

Anger pulsed in his veins like life's blood, and he dropped the mirror on the grass, trying to control his shaking fists.

He pivoted on his heel and stalked back toward the house.

"Where are you going?" James called, rather hysterically.

"I'm going to owl Marlene."

"Marlene?"

"Yeah. Lily's blonde friend, you know, the one with the cute mole and the big—"

"Ass?"

"Eyes, mate. Really?"

"I didn't say it was bad a thing."

"Nothing that's big on Marlene is a bad thing."

"Sirius, I'm—"

"Yeah, you're sorry. Save it, Prongs."

Sirius tore into the house. He felt the disappointment and confusion and guilt in James. He left it behind. He had enough of those feelings inside himself to contend with. And James was too close to the situation to help him parse it out. Usually, he went to Remus with his moral dilemmas (which were few and far between). But his moral dilemma this time was Remus himself.

He snorted at the idea of going to Peter for advice.

Sirius threw open the library door, stalking toward a desk he'd never sat at. He wasn't exactly one for letter writing, but necessary evils and all. He wished he didn't have to bring her into this. But Sirius was in over his head and full of turmoiling feelings and he wanted his best mate back. He missed the shit out of Remus. There was an unbalance in the Marauders, and tension filling the Potter manor.

It was all Sirius's fault.

He wanted to feel whole again, not broken open like his back had been mere days ago. But he didn't care about personal absolution. The Incident was a deed he'd have to live with. Because he was a Black, and there would always be a shard of evil in his heart.

_He had been made wrong._

Sirius was so tired of bleeding.

Another twinge of guilt made his fingers twitch as quill found ink. Guilt, for lying to James. But he didn't want to hear the preening and pining right now.

Because Sirius wasn't writing a letter to Marlene.

He was writing a letter to Evans.

—

_L Babes—_

_You know what happened. Help me fix it._

_S_

That was it. That was the whole bloody stupid letter.

Lily's fingers dug into the parchment, crinkling it. Sparks flew out of her wand on the bed, and she yelped, dropping a book on her duvet to suffocate the teeny flame. Smoke curled up to the ceiling and she collapsed on her smoldering bed with a groan.

_First_ of fucking all, she did know what had happened. "The Incident" as all of the Marauders had apparently agreed to call it, when they'd each individually brought it up to her.

Peter had spilled the beans first, through a mouth full of eggs the morning after it had occurred. She preferred to block out the image of the yellow mash in his mouth.

Remus had mentioned it on accident, after studying (read: brooding) in the library. On his own. For several hours. And he had quickly clammed up and departed the school two weeks before the end of term.

James had poured his heart out in a letter the first day of summer holiday. She hadn't responded yet. She had too much James-confusion on her mind. And sympathizing with him over his little broken up gang would show she was invested.

She wasn't ready to be invested. Or rather, she wasn't sure if she was ready. She'd thought she'd have the whole summer to figure that one out.

Sirius, though, hadn't mentioned The Incident to her at all. In fact, they rarely ever spoke. He didn't fond of her constant rejections of his best mate—though said best mate hadn't been propositioning her much, if at all, since before Christmas break.

So even besides the fact that she was confused about why he'd chosen to reach out to _her_ of all people, she was ultimately concerned. Because he _had_ chosen to reach out to her. Of all people. Which meant, relations between the Marauders wasn't getting better.

It was getting worse.

And even though Peter was goofy and Remus was broody and Sirius was angsty and James was cocky, they were still the Marauders. They were a Hogwarts institution. And a portion of them, for Merlin knew what reason, were her friends.

Which meant, she wasn't eager to watch them fall apart. Especially if she was being recruited to help.

_Second_ of fucking all, she was marveling at the crack in Sirius's pride, crawling to _her_ for assistance. On the other hand, she was also marveling at the ego on that boy. He simply assumed she knew what was going on and that she would be fine with him owling her and happy to help them—but specifically _him_ —even though they had no relationship, really, of which to speak.

"Help me fix it." It wasn't even a question! It was a beyond a request, a demand, really. The absolute nerve on that boy. Plus, he'd simply signed the letter "S." What, like she would automatically know or assume it was him? (She had done both.) What if she'd thought it was Sandra Bones? Or Shaun Brocklehurst? Or Severus Snape.

She cut that thought off, but not before the hiss of "Mudblood" swept through her mind.

_Third_ of fucking all, she wasn't about to get into the horrid moniker of "L Babes."

Lily sniffed and rolled over on her stomach to read the crumpled note again, as if the arrogant phrasing had possibly changed.

Honestly, she'd wished Sirius had just owled Marlene instead. Yeah, Lily was better at this sort of thing. But Marlene knew the Marauders just as well—some better than others—and could have helped in _some_ form. Why did it have to be Lily?

But as she summoned quill and ink and parchment and a textbook to bare down on, Lily knew exactly why Sirius had picked her. She shoved down a spark of pride, the pride of being chosen.

Because Lily was Sirius's on-again-off-again fling's best mate. Because Marlene could be trusted, but Marlene would be biased. And Sirius was Lily's alleged paramour's best mate. Whom she had rejected colorfully and successfully a multitude of times.

What Sirius really needed was impartiality and ruthlessness.

He'd owled the right bitch.


	4. IV: Spinner's End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Books shook on their shelves. Glass rattled in the panes. Remus could feel the magic pouring off of both of them, twisting dangerously throughout the shop. Black's eyes were the shining silver discs of the moon, and Remus almost shied away.

**IV: Spinner's End**

Midnight struck at the same moment that a violent tapping crescendoed against James's bedroom window.

He looked up. Light from the almost-full moon brightened his room with a blue glow. He'd been doing his homework by that and a little wand light.

The owl tapped again.

James stood to let it in, cocking his head. Because the owl wasn't Charming.

It was Queen, Lily's pitch black owl.

"Have you finally got a response for me?" he asked, opening the window and untying the letter from the bird's leg.

It took off immediately, without waiting for a reply.

James frowned. On the outside of the parchment, it read:

_No, James. This is not for you._

How in the bloody hell had she even known he and Sirius were together? Merlin, she was too smart for her own good.

He scoffed, and opened the top flap of the letter. Written there was another note.

_Siriusly. Back off, Potter._

He frowned. Well then. If that's how she wanted to play it.

He slammed open his bedroom door, stomped down the corridor, and banged into Sirius's room.

"You've got a letter, mate," he snapped, chucking it at him.

Sirius blinked sleep from his eyes, swatting the parchment out of his face. It fluttered to the floor.

"Prongs, I was sleeping. Soundly, I might add, and on my back. For the first time in _days_. What do you bloody want?"

But James didn't answer. Instead, he viciously scooped up the letter and stuffed it in Sirius's face.

"Holy fuck, all right. I'll read it. Untwist your knickers, you impatient prat." Sirius sat up, unfolding the parchment the rest of the way. He groaned.

"Well?" James snarled. "What's she want, then?"

Sirius raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh, is _that_ what this is all about?"

James bristled. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're jealous." His grin was cheeky and borderline punchable.

"Am not," James said with a snort.

"Are too, you liar. Because Evans is writing to _me_ , and hasn't responded yet to _you_."

"How'd you know I'd written her?" James asked gruffly.

That cheeky grin got larger. "I didn't."

James rolled his eyes. "Give me _that_." He reached out to pluck the letter from Sirius, but his best mate was suddenly dancing on the bed, out of his reach.

"Padfoot!"

"Jamesiekins is _jealllllous_. Jamesiekins is _jeallllllous_."

“Shut up, you!” James nearly screamed. “I’m not jealous! Not even slightly!”

Sirius continued singing, bouncing off the bed and bopping his hips from side to side. “Oh- _ho_ , look at this!” He shot a smirk over his shoulder. “She _has_ written to you, Potter. Telling you to get your slimy nose out of my letter.”

“Hey! My nose isn’t slimy.”

“You’re right; that was rude. This note is for you, not Snivellus, her lover.”

“Could you just read it already?” James groaned. This was getting ridiculous. All he wanted to know was what Lily wanted and why she was writing to Sirius and not to him. Why was that so much to ask for?

"What does she see in him any..." But Sirius trailed off. Then, he was fuming, balling up the letter and chucking it on the bed.

James grabbed for it.

_aSshole,_

_Prufrock's. Spinner's End. Tomorrow. 9am._

_L_

"I like her nickname for you," James remarked, smirking. Any jealousy in him died away.

"How dare she?" Sirius snapped. "I called her 'babe.'"

James blinked at him. "You called her 'babe?'"

"Well, 'L Babes.' But yeah, babe was involved. It was actually very kind of me, since I don't find her even remotely attractive."

"That's a lie, you definitely do."

"Do not."

"Quidditch after party. Third year. Chair by the—"

"All right, all right," Padfoot said. He plopped down on the bed. "I was out of my bloody mind though."

"Yeah, on butter beer." James asked, throwing himself down on his stomach next to Sirius. "What'd you owl her about anyways?"

"Moony."

James groaned. He was getting tired of this conversation too. " _Padfoot_. You have to let him come around in his own time."

"Yeah, but what if he doesn't?"

"He will."

"How can you know?"

"He loves you, mate."

—

James's words still rang in his ears the next morning. They struck a chord in his heart that had never been plucked before. Sirius wanted to ignore that chord.

But even as he crossed the Potter's lawn to Apparate, that string continued to reverberate in his chest.

—

Lily hadn't bothered to check her watch. She didn't bother to walk with her usual briskness, either. Instead, she loped down the street, vaguely aware of the time—what was it, 9:05? 9:15?—toward Prufrock's.

"You're late," said a sly voice, snaking into her ear.

Lily jumped, whirling around, hand pressed to her chest.

Leaning against a lamppost was Sirius Bloody Black. He wore a sleeveless Quidditch jersey and jeans, the emblem of a roaring lion gleaming gold across his chest. Dark hair straggled across his eyes and brushed his shoulders.

"I didn't think you'd be on time," Lily said more defensively than she felt. Mostly, she couldn't believe he'd been prompt—since when did Sirius care about basic civility?

"You were taking your time getting ready for me, is more like," he countered, sauntering up to her.

It was true that Lily wore her favorite outfit: a flowy blue and white skirt and coral mid-drift top, with ties as sleeves. Her hair was down, her sunglasses on, and coral lipgloss painted her lips. And maybe she had worn it for Sirius, but not to get him all hot and bothered.

She had a feeling James would be asking after her. And she wanted to be presentable for Sirius's recollections. She didn’t care if that was stupid. This was the summer of Figuring Her Feelings Out. And pride be damned, she would figure them out.

Even if that meant dressing cute for James who wasn’t even here.

"If I was getting ready for _you_ , I'd still be in my pajamas," Lily snapped. She didn't wait for him, as she pushed open the swinging door and headed into Prufrock's.

The cafe wasn't so noisy this time of day. Those headed into work had usually grabbed their coffees by this point. Most of the patrons now were studying university students or mums catching up while their kids were at school.

Sirius followed her inside. "Excellent, Evans. You should go back and change."

She glanced at him over her shoulder. "I don't look nice?"

His grin was slow. "The way you look should not be defined by me."

"Then by who?"

"Yourself," he said with a shrug. "And, perhaps, my darling James."

She glared at him and approached the counter, staring at their muffin display. Damn him for knowing the game she played.

Fingers whispered along her lower back, then disappeared. "You look nice, Evans."

"You look like an idiot, Black."

He chuckled. "So this is Prufrock's."

"Mmm-hmm. It's my favorite cafe in town."

"Why?"

"Need I a better reason than good coffee?"

"Merlin, no. Order me some."

Usually at a demand like that, she'd bristle. But they both knew Sirius was in Muggle territory. And had no ruddy clue what he was doing.

"Get a table," Lily shot back.

He saluted her and slipped off to the corner.

As she waited for their pumpkin muffins and iced coffees, she couldn't help but marvel at the fact that she was here. In Spinner's End. With Sirius Black. In fact, she really couldn't believe she was friends with the Marauders at all, pranksters that they were. And the most popular boys in school. Lily wasn't half as popular herself, so grabbing coffee with Sirius would seem to most students like she was grabbing coffee with some celebrity.

She glanced back at him. He was tugging at a sugar packet experimentally, and jumped when white crystals poured out.

Some celebrity.

She collected their muffins and coffees, and sat down at the table.

"Why's it got ice in it?" Sirius asked, picking up the glass and staring suspiciously at the cubes.

"It's an _iced_ coffee." Lily slurped on her straw.

"I don't want _that_."

"Stop being a two year old and try it."

He rolled his eyes, but took a sip. His whole face lit up.

"You're welcome," she said too sweetly.

"This is ambrosia.”

Lily cocked her head. "You know what ambrosia is?"

"I was raised with a stellar education, Lily dear." His voice was light, his eyes were dark.

It made her ask quietly: "How's your summer been?"

"Lousy. You?"

She shrugged. "Bout the same."

Now, Sirius cocked his head. "Really? I can't imagine your summers being anything but perfect."

"You don't know me, so that's understandable."

"What's there to know?" he asked. But the way he said it wasn't rude. It was inquisitive. Borderline polite.

What really got her though was the undertone of commiseration. As if he knew what it was like, having a sibling who'd refused to acknowledge her existence for the past seven years.

A flash in those grey eyes was confirmation enough.

"My sister's a bitch," Lily said simply.

Sirius leaned back, slurping loudly on his coffee. It was half gone. "I already love this conversation. Favorite conversation we've ever had. Go on, then."

"She hasn’t so much as paid me a compliment since I received my Hogwarts letter.”

“Mad that you’re a witch?”

“Mad that she isn’t.”

_Slurp_. “Nice. Mine’s ignored me since I got sorted into Gryffindor.”

“Sister?”

“Brother. Goes to Hogwarts.”

Lily nodded. “Right. Regulus. I’ve seen him around.”

Sirius cut her a look. “What do you mean you’ve ‘seen him around?’”

“I mean, he’s friends with Severus, right? He pops by once or twice during the summers.”

“I didn’t know he ever left Grimmauld Place,” Sirius said idly, drawing squiggles in the condensation on his glass. His face was hardly as nonchalant as his tone. He gulped. “He here now?”

“No.” Lily shook her head. She thought about patting his free hand. She thought better of it. “I’m sorry, Sirius.”

He snorted. “Bout what?”

She leaned back and crossed her arms. “You know, you act like everything is so easy for you.”

“Because it is.”

“But it’s not, is it? You’re Pureblood, your family associates with all of those houses that believe in—“

“Lily, stop.”

“—blood purity and all that nonsense. I mean, it can’t have been pleasant, growing up in a house like yours once you found out you were a Gryffindor, could it have?”

He was quiet. He finished off the last of his coffee, then said, “It wasn’t pleasant, even before that.”

“You don’t have to swagger around the school to cover your anger, Black.”

“And you don’t have to put your nose where it doesn’t belong, Evans. Now”—his glass clinked as it hit the table—“why am I here?”

“Well, Prufrock’s is much more than a cafe, you see,” she said, quirking her eyebrow deviously.

“What else is it?” Sirius leaned forward, seeming eager. “A bar? A strip club?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, you idiot. It’s also a bookshop.” She gestured to the archway, leading into a second room that was lined with books. Dust motes danced in the sunlight streaming in through the windows.

“Why in the name of Merlin have you brought me to a—oh no.”

—

“You wanted help,” Lily snapped.

“Yeah, like _advice_. Not a set up!”

Sirius ran his hand through his hair. The bloody nerve of this woman. Bringing him _here_ , to Remus’s bookshop. He hadn’t known the name of it till now, but it wasn’t so hard to put together. Spinner’s End was a small village, and he had popped by here on full moons over the past few summers.

“The only way to get past this with Remus is to talk to him,” Lily said all-knowingly.

“You and Prongs,” he muttered, sullenly crossing his arms.

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re not the only mother hen I’ve been around lately, trust me.”

Her face went red. “ _Mother hen_?”

“Yeah. You’re a fusspot.”

“You’re the one who asked for help!”

Suddenly, the bell over the door in the bookshop rang. Footsteps sounded, and there was a flash of sandy hair as a boy walked past.

Sirius gulped.

“You’re being pathetic,” Lily accused. But her voice was light, and something like sympathy shone in her eyes.

“He’s not going to listen to me,” Sirius muttered, staring at the ice chips in his glass.

“Not at first, no,” she confirmed. “But if you’re persistent, I’m sure you’ll wear him down.”

“You’ve got experience in that, yeah?”

She glared at him. “This isn’t about me.”

“Could it be?”

“No. Go talk to him.”

“And say what?” Sirius whined. “‘I’m sorry?’ Yeah, like _that’ll_ bloody work.”

“What were you thinking the night that it happened?” Lily asked.

“I don’t know, do I?!” he barked, then ran his hand through his hair again. He was pissed, he was worked up, the words were just tumbling out. “I was angry, all right? I was angry at Snape, at how him and his _crew_ ”—he sneered—“had gotten to Reg, that that was it. Reg was in. Reg’s got the Mark—“

“Mark?”

“—and I snapped. Snivellus was always so worried about where Remus was going every month and why he was so ill. So I told him where he could find out, if he really wanted answers. And I—oh, Merlin, Lily. _I fucked up_.”

Sirius’s face was in his hands. His breaths were coming too fast, too ragged. He was in the same town as Snape. A town that Regulus frequented over the summers. A town that Remus lived in. Remus, who he had almost turned into a murderer. Remus whose secret he had unwittingly shared. He’d put all of his friends in danger. And yeah, he didn’t give a shit about Snivellus, but he’d still put him in danger too.

And Remus, especially Remus. Dear Remus, who wouldn’t even squish a spider in his bed, because how was it the spider’s fault for being as curious as the rest of the creatures on this planet, and just wanting to go on a little adventure?

_Made wrong. Born wrong._ It echoed through Sirius's head again and again. There was no fixing him, was there?

But perhaps, he could fix _this_. He couldn’t cure Remus of lycanthropy, or Obliviate Snape (could he?—no), but maybe he could mend their relationship. Even just a little.

“All right, yeah,” Sirius said. He sniffed and stood, pushing his chair back. He laid his hands flat on the table, staring into Lily’s wide emerald eyes. “I’ll go chat with him.”

She gave him a nervous smile. “Want company?”

“Pop in if it gets hairy, would you?”

And he strode across the dividing threshold and into the bookshop.

—

All Remus wanted to do was reshelve some books. That was it. He’d had no time to himself in the past two days, what with Wormtail crawling all over the house—sometimes literally—and Remus needed _space_. Peter was lovely to have around and all, but he talked incessantly.

Remus’s bookstore hours were a personal sanctuary. Just the smell of old parchment and ink, coffee roasting over in the next room, some classic rock playing softly.

He imagined the inside of his mind looked much like this.

A certain head of scraggly black hair passed by his vision, and Remus blinked. Yep, the inside of his head looked _exactly_ like this.

Merlin, wait. No. It couldn't be...

The person returned. They blinked back.

And before Remus could stop his traitorous mouth, he breathed, “Sirius...?”

Black leaned against the shelf, crossing his arms. His arms, which looked simply sinful in that sleeveless Quidditch jersey. He had a leather band and silver chains around one wrist, the hand of which he used to curl his hair behind an ear.

“So you don’t hate me,” Black said. But his usual smirk faltered.

Remus remembered himself. He shoved a book on its shelf, a bit harsher than necessary. “What is it you want?”

“To talk, Remus, seriously. That’s all.”

“About?” His voice was acid.

By Black’s flinch, he knew it burnt. “You know what about.”

“I’m busy, Black.” He demonstrated this by sliding another book on the shelf.

The other boy rolled his eyes. “You always are.”

“And what’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Remus suddenly snapped. The moon was tomorrow night, and the wolf rose in him swiftly.

Black should know better than to pick a fight now.

“It means that you left James’s too quick the other night. You didn’t give me a chance to explain—“

“Explain what? What else could there _possibly_ be to your little story of my almost-homicide? Which instead turned into Severus Snape—my best mates’ greatest enemy—learning my darkest secret?”

Black was quiet.

“Go on then!” Remus egged. “Tell me what I’m leaving out!”

“Nothing, Moony,” Black said quietly, defeatedly. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I miss you.”

Remus scoffed.

“And all my pride be damned, I’m sorry.”

It made Remus pause. Just like Peter’s admittance had.

_"Well, plus—and you don't remember this because you were kinda wolfing out by this point—Sirius dragged you out of the doorway."_

_"So?"_

_"He was still human when he did it."_

Tiny little breadcrumbs. If forgiveness was a gingerbread house, Black was laying the right trail. But it didn’t mean he’d done enough just yet.

Remus wasn’t trying to punish him. But he was angry. And he was angry in more ways than one. Sure, Black was his best mate, had been for years. And best mates didn't do shit like this to each other. But there were other things that bothered Remus. Like having to stare at Black's arms right now. Or the cut of his jaw. And the fact that these beautiful things, too, had betrayed Remus cut him deeper than Black could ever know.

Than he would would ever _let_ Black know. It was a secret Remus liked to keep hidden even from himself—because Black was his best mate, because it was a line he refused to cross—and he was content to continue doing just that. But that didn’t mean his subconscious wasn’t personally offended by The Incident.

Remus’s anger was twofold and poor Sirius would never know it.

“Sorry?” Remus hissed instead, almost hating himself. He turned and started stalking down the aisle. He heard Black following him. “That’s all you’ve got, have you?”

“Remus,” Black spluttered. “I—I came all the way here—“

Remus turned on him, getting up in his face, not caring about his own coffee breath or the spittle flying or the redness of his cheeks. He felt feverish. He felt crazed. “And you think _that_ makes a difference? You think if you Apparate a couple of hundred miles we’re suddenly bosom buds again? You think that saying ‘I’m sorry’ means more than just words, coming from the mouth of Sirius Black?”

“It should!” Black roared back, not backing down. They were so close, too close, but his temper was loosed. And the two of them unhinged in the same room was never a good thing. “If you haven’t noticed, it’s not something I often say!”

Books shook on their shelves. Glass rattled in the panes. Remus could feel the magic pouring off of both of them, twisting dangerously throughout the shop. Black's eyes were the shining silver discs of the moon, and Remus almost shied away.

“Sorry isn’t going to make this better, Black!” he screamed instead.

“Then what will?!” The yell filled the space, so much so that when it waned out, it felt like they were in a bubble. That the moment one of them moved from panting in the other’s face, the world would pop, the sound would rush in, the moment would end.

Would he ever be this close to Sirius again?

“Time,” Remus said finally. He stepped back.

The bubble burst. Sound and life and coffee drinkers and book readers rushed in.

“I don’t think you should come tomorrow night,” Remus said plainly. Though he felt anything but. In fact, his mind fought him as the words fell out. But he was so overwrought and overtired and over _this_.

Black shook his head. “What?”

“You heard me.” Too late to take it back now.

Hurt settled over Black’s face—his whole body. He cringed away from Remus, face twisting. And when those grey eyes pierced him once more, they shone.

Remus was suddenly transported back to James’s bathroom. To a broken boy in a tub filled with pink water. A back flushed with scars so like his own.

“Fine,” Black said stiffly. He regained his composure, like the well-trained Pureblood he was.

There was a flash of movement on the threshold and Remus glanced at it. She must have been the one who’d brought Black here—was it really so easy to betray him? Tears welled in his throat.

“Is nothing sacred, Lily?”

She gulped. “Remus...”

He shook his head, turning his back on both of them. Ignoring their crestfallen faces, and ignoring the pang in his own heart at which one hurt worse.

“Take him home.”

He disappeared into the stacks.

—

“You should tell him about Regulus,” Lily said quietly as they stood outside of Prufrock’s.

Sirius didn’t respond. He kicked the lamppost instead.

_Wrong wrong wrong wrong_

“I gotta go,” he said. His voice choked. He didn’t care.

“Sirius—“

Her hand was reaching out for him, and it was more than he could bear.

He Disapparated.

—

On a good day, Lily was furious with only James. On a normal day, with him and Sirius. On a bad day, with all of the Marauders.

It was a rare day indeed if she was mad at only him.

“REMUS JOHN LUPIN!”

She knew her face was cherry red, her fists clenched. She felt her hair blow around her, and she stormed like a tornado through the stacks, ignoring the wide eyes of customers. When she got her hands on that boy—

From the corner came a quiet snuffling sound.

"Remus Lupin," Lily growled, turning on him, "if you don't go after that idiot _right now_ —" But as she finally took in his appearance, all words failed her.

Remus was crouched on the ground, knees pulled into his chest, shoulders hunched and shaking.

Her storm ebbed. She slid onto her own knees, gripping his hands. "Remus?"

He shook his head. "I—I can't, Lily, I—"

"Oh, Remus..."

"He—he hurt me. And why do I—"

"Why do you what?" Lily asked gently. She leaned back next to him against the wall, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

He leaned into her. "Why do I still want him around?"

And then his arms were around her waist, his face in her stomach. One of her arms crushed him to her, the other smoothing back his hair.

"Because he's your best mate," she murmured.

"Something's broken," Remus sniffed.

"Broken things can be fixed."

"I don't know...I just don't know..."

—

Even though the sun was still up, the full moon was on the rise.

There were no windows down here in the Lupin's locked basement. Just stone walls that were relatively soundproof and definitely monster-proof. Peter had experienced them loads of times. The walls and the monsters. And also, dungeons in general. Stupid potions class.It didn't stop James from Apparating in anyway.

Moony didn't so much as jump as the _CRACK_ echoed through the room. He was leaning against one of the walls, smoking a cigarette. He always smoked right before he transformed. Really, it was a nasty habit. But he claimed it calmed his nerves before he wolfed out. Peter thought he was just trying to look cool. Course, he wasn’t sure who he was trying to look cool _for_. There was no one to impress in the Marauders.

"That could kill you," Peter said.

“Good thing you’re leaving tomorrow, and won’t have to clean up my body,” Remus remarked.

James winced. “Rem, come on.”

Remus sighed and dropped the cig, crushing it under his boot. “Sorry. It’s the wolf.”

“Yeah,” Peter said. But something in him twinged. Never good enough, was he?

“Seriously, Pete. You know I don’t mean that. It was good having you around.”

“I know,” Peter said, sniffing disdainfully. “I’m an incredible house guest.”

James fluffed his hair and glanced nervously at his watch. "I was running a bit behind—sorry. But that means you should probably go ahead and—"

"Yeah, yeah. I know, Mother." Remus said, waving him off. He pulled his shirt over his head.

Peter snatched up all his articles of clothing, tucking them neatly on the stairwell.

Fully nude in front of them, arms crossed, Remus asked, “He’s not coming then?”

James glanced at Peter. They’d chatted a bit via floo after the bookstore altercation yesterday, exchanging sides of the story. And then Lily had owled them with her own account. All sides seemed to match up, particularly on this little issue.

“I mean,” James said carefully, “you told him not to, mate.”

“Yeah.”

“So...what’d you expect?” Peter whispered.

Remus turned his back to them, rolled his shoulders. Tremors that had nothing to do with his emotions and everything to do with the wolf began to rock his body. “I expected exactly this.”

He hunched, moaning.

Peter gulped. Poor bastard.

“See you on the other side,” he said to James, saluted, and transformed.

—

James knew he should have become a stag by now. That any whiff of his human scent would rile Moony and the wolf would bear down on him. But something told him to watch Remus.

Remus, whose spine was popping out of his back. Whose muscles and joints were shifting, elongating. His nose was becoming snout-like, his fingers had extra knuckles. He grew so large, they would be like packed sardines in this basement.

As always, his eyes were the last to go—and they seemed to be holding on longer tonight, as if Moony’s consciousness was waiting for something.

The amber gleamed helplessly at James.

“You dirty liar,” James whispered. “You want him here, don’t you?”

With a howl, they shifted to blazing yellow.

James flicked his wand, sent out a quick spell. And then he too transformed.

—

Sirius stared up at the full moon, which glared down at him on the Lupin’s back lawn. It was a clear evening, warm, and would have been perfect had the moon not been so round.

A howl rocked the night.

Sirius winced. It was fine if Moony didn’t want him in there. After The Incident, Sirius owed him everything. And if this was what he wished for, Sirius wasn’t going to complain.

Out loud.

Inside, he was a raging mess. And even though he’d royally fucked up, he couldn’t help the feelings of betrayal lancing through him. First his brother got the Mark, then his father disowned him, and now Remus didn’t even want him around. Who was next—Lily? Peter?

James?

There was a flutter next to his ear. Sirius turned his head. A piece of parchment had settled on the grass next to him.

He picked it up, reading by the light of the moon.

_Get in here, you prideful git._

Sirius barked out a laugh, and vanished.

—

Everything came in snatches and blurs.

The cold concrete of the basement.

The stink of blood and animal fur.

The mangled whispers of three boys who wanted to be quiet but were terrible at doing so.

Being dragged to his feet, in three sets of arms.

“—clothes—“

“—potion’s on his night table—“

“I’ve got it from here.”

Two sets of arms vanished.

Remus was vaguely aware of stairs under his feet. Of someone saying, “Come on, Moony. That’s it. You’ve got it.”

Then—the cushion of his queen-sized mattress, the down softness of the duvet, hot and bubbling liquid down his throat.

“Stop thrashing, you prat.”

He swallowed. He collapsed.

“Blinds,” he rasped.

“Right,” said the voice.

It got dark.

Footsteps made their way toward the door.

“Stay,” Remus mumbled, already halfway to sleep.

The steps paused. Like their owner wasn’t so sure.

But seconds later, the opposite side of the mattress dipped.

Remus felt a hand on his shoulder.

He smiled and finally drifted away.


	5. V: Vignettes, On Second Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We'd never talked about it. Even after we'd told Moony we knew what he was. Maybe he was waiting for me to say something first, since my secrets were still secrets. 
> 
> But it didn't matter. Because boys don't talk about that shit. That's what our fathers taught us.
> 
> We were still too young not to listen.

**V: Vignettes, On Second Year**

The first time I gazed up at the Whomping Willow, I almost wet myself.

It towered above everything else on the grounds. Swinging and snarling, more unloveable even than a werewolf. Than me. But Madame Pomfrey simple plucked a long stick from the grass, prodded a knot in the Willow's roots, and the tree stilled. Like a cat, stroked in exactly the right spot.

It made me wonder if there was spot with in myself that could be so easily calmed with the right word.

She pushed me ahead of her and we crawled up a tunnel and into a rickety shack. It smelled freshbut looked ancient. And I couldn't help the immense amount of guilt and humility that washed through me when I thought of how Dumbledore built all this, planted that monstrous tree, just for me.

A common werewolf.

For a year, I was able to keep the secret of my transformations to myself. But by second year, I had "gone home" and "fallen ill" and returned bruised and bloody and scarred anew too many times for Prongs, Padfoot, and Wormtail to understand.

They were never supposed to find out, but they quickly proved to be nosier than school mothers lunching. Besides which, I was only twelve, and not particularly adept at being secretive.

Especially when I had made friends for the first time in my life.

—

I was the last to know. Always the last for anything. Last born. Last picked. Last inducted into the Marauders. Last and least and all of it.

Prongs figured it out first. Padfoot freaked out first. Which left me, the last to do both.

It wasn't unexpected, that I was behind in this. In lots of things. I'm not stupid. Hardly. I just don't...care. Or pay attention enough. It's nice having friends who can do both for me. And I've always made certain to have friends with that particular talent. Can't get ahead much in life if you don't have support.

But whatever. Point is, I knew, thanks to them. It was odd and awkward at first. Confronting him a month before Christmas holiday, and wondering if this was it. This was the end of our friend group. Three less presents under the tree this year.

Instead, we ended up popping round the Lupins' for the holidays—and talking through the night as Moony attacked himself in the basement below.

It's when Padfoot first thought of it.

—

We were playing Exploding Snap, trying to block out Moony's howls. It wasn't helping. Prongs was sweating. Wormtail was all twitchy. And my chest was on fire. It's fine though, it worked out. Because we needed a distraction, any distraction, and I blurted, "You don't reckon his animal form would really be a werewolf, do you?"

The thought scared me. That a boy so kind and bookish and mostly quiet was hiding so much rage inside. But only because he'd been turned into a werewolf. I couldn't imagine what he'd be like without that burden. If he'd even be friends with us in the first place. If he’d even be in Gryffindor. Maybe the wolf liked our shenanigans, and Moony himself didn't.

I also couldn't help but note the similarities between us, though my friends hadn't yet seen them. The always boiling anger. The heaviness of a scar. The tongue that you had to hold back at all times. At all costs. He'd proved much better at that than I.

Belts filled my nightmares, and moons filled his. But it wasn't like one entity was scarier than the other. Fear is relative. So is pain. We'd both wake screaming in the night, cold from nightmares. Our eyes would lock across the dormitory before the other boys woke and distracted us. We'd never talked about it. Even after we'd told Moony we knew what he was. Maybe he was waiting for me to say something first, since my secrets were still secrets.

But it didn't matter. Because boys don't talk about that shit. That's what our fathers taught us.

We were still too young not to listen.

—

Raven, we thought first. Moony was raven-like. Perhaps just a wolf, perhaps something as silly as a hedgehog. Wormtail threw out lion, but lions were exempt. We were all Gryffs anyway. Soit turned into us debating about which animals we'd be ourselves.

Flamingo.

Dragon.

Turtle.

Lizard.

Round and round we went, till we were rolling around laughing, and Padfoot got this funny look on his face. He sometimes got that look. Like he's had a brilliant idea. And usually, it was the prank-concocting kind. But occasionally, it was legitimately academically ingenious. This was one of those.

"You know...we could find out."

Wormtail snorted. "What, we gonna transfigure each other until we've picked out the right animal look for our skin tones?"

"Close Wormtail." Padfoot turned to me. "Lycanthropy only effects humans, right?"

"Well...I think so."

"Yeah...yeah...."

"What, mate?"

And he uttered the sentence that would change all our lives, and cement the Marauders forever:

"What if we were Animagi?"

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hi all! Please know this is cross-posted on HPFF and FF. So if you see it under a mini marauder username, it’s me. 
> 
> I’m excited to finally be on AO3, and will be posting regularly! Cheers :)


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